Saving Draco
by Isabella C Robertson
Summary: Worried about lack of correspondence from Draco Malfoy, Professor Snape pays a visit to Malfoy Manor and the sites which meet him unfold a tale of events. Can Severus Save Draco? Mentor/Abuse/Family/HP & Characters/ OOC/ R&R
1. The Prolouge

**Saving Draco**

**by**

**Isabella C Robertson**

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><p>Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or anything related to the Harry Potter world.<p>

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><p><strong>The Prologue<strong>

_**Draco.**_

"…You will speak only when permitted to do so. You will say nothing otherwise."

Severus spoke in a hurried whisper. The tiny hand enveloped in his own, giant in comparison, tightened with little strength around his fingers. The long corridor, elegantly decorated on both sides with ancestry pictures of snoozing wizards and suspicious witches, followed the frantic pair. Heavy healed boots clicked sharply against the oak panelled floor; alongside them, a miniature set of feet, toddler in size yet bearing a fine pair of leather dress shoes, jogged in a clumsy manor.

Approaching the door to the rooms that had once been Draco's playroom, but was now a dull and intimidating asylum with a long desk with ivory cushioned chairs and more book shelves than one could need, Severus found it difficult to release the sweating hand in his palm.

"Are you listening? Did you hear me speak?"

A forced, fearful nod of the head was what he received. Dropping his gaze, Severus halted the young Malfoy by the shoulders. He dropped to one knee, knotting his fingers between those tiny trembling hands.

"Draco?" he spoke, moving his hand to cup the chin of the delicate boy before him.

Draco cringed. His small twitchy movements told Severus enough of what he was feeling. Frightened, nervous, alone, confused.

"Draco listen-"

"No, no, no." he whimpered, shaking his head with each word.

"Stop it Draco." Severus said, shaking his head along with each terrified jerk of the little boy's head.

"No, no, no"

He cringed away from Severus , his eyes flitting like a hair caught in the headlights, the dull grey iris of the obscure globes filled with everything that should not exist in a 6 year olds world - hurt, dread, loss.

"What is the matter?" Severus hissed angrily. He strained to keep his voice low for fear of attraction. "I thought things were better?"

_Don't be naïve, his conscious muttered. _

For a moment, there were no sounds, other than sharp and panicked breathing… and then a door lock clicked in the distance… another set of heels echoed toward them. Draco's eye flitted toward Severus, his pupils burned with the silent cry of help. As the echo subdued with every step closer, Draco's terrified tremors became more violent.

"How very touching."

Severus closed his eyes momentarily, as if wishing a silent prayer, then rose to face the Senior Malfoy. He nodded respectfully.

Lucius smirked. "Thank you for your services, Severus. I shall be in contact soon regarding Draco's examinations."

Severus's face tightened. "I anticipate your word." He turned sharply on his heel and cast a quick glance down at the frightened expression on Draco's face. Every ounce of him wished to grab Draco and run. He had no idea where they would run too, how far they would get or how he would even manage, but the thought burned with a fiery passion. "Good day, Draco."

"Sir…" Draco began to mutter.

"Fetch the stick, Draco," he heard Lucius announce as he neared the end of the corridor.

_Merlin have mercy, he thought._

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><p><strong><em>Harry.<em>**

"I'm not a coward!" Harry yelled, scrunching up his fists.

"Prove it." Dudley grunted. He pulled the chocolate bar from his back pocket and waved it in front of Harry's face. "I'll give you this if you do."

Harry's eyes followed the glistening green foil as his cousin swung it from side to side. The purple letters read_ 'Taz Bar',_ below it in white _'a gooey caramel centre with a milk chocolate coating'_. Harry's mouth watered at the thought of biting into the soft chocolate, the melted caramel dribbling across his lips, sticking to his teeth and coating his tongue in a sugary blanket of deliciousness. He licked his lips.

"But if you don't want it …" Dudley wrapped his fat pink fist around the bar.

"Stop!" Harry cried, terrified his huge cousin would crush the treasure.

Dudley cocked an eyebrow, his chubby cheeks rose slightly into a grin and his small round brown eyes creased.

"Do it then!" he demanded.

Harry eyed the white mint sweets in the palm of his hand. It seemed like such a waste, ruining these delicious sweets. He couldn't understand why Dudley would waste his pocket money on sweets just to throw them into a jug of cola.

"Why are -"

Dudley punched him the arm. "Just do it, runt!" he hissed, repeating the new word he had learned from his father this week.

Harry whimpered, rubbing ferociously at his arm. With his bottom lip trembling he stood on the tips of his toes, stretching his arm out over the jug of cola. The thoughts of getting that Taz Bar from Dudley made him sniff his pain away and he dropped 7 of the sweet smelling mints into the jug of cola.

"I did it. Gimmie the b-"

A hiss and a loud eruption made him look up just in time to see the jug of cola erupt in a stream of light brown liquid. The cola shot into the air, splashing against the walls, staining the ceiling, drenching the family portrait and Dudley's art work on the fridge, and then finally landing on top of Harry's head. He gasped loudly and made to move, but slipped on the flooded floor, landing heavily on his back. From where he lay, he saw Dudley doubled up out side the back door, pointing and laughing. He had been tricked.

"**RUNT!**" he heard his Uncle Vernon roar from the kitchen door. Harry cringed away against the wall. His uncles heavy foot steps almost shook the tiles beneath him. "Caught in the act, eh runt."

Uncle Vernon tightened his meaty fist around the back of Harry's jumper and dragged him across the floor, drenching his jeans. He lifted him into the air and shook him.

"Look at this mess!" he roared.

Harry trembled in his uncle's clutches. He opened his mouth to stutter every apology he could think of, but his voice seemed to have lodged somewhere in the back of his throat. He hung onto his uncle's meaty claws, his small fingers trying in desperate vain to pry himself free. If he could just get free he thought, then he'd run to his cupboard and hide. Uncle Vernon can't fit in the cupboard.

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><p><em>Thank you if you've taken the time to read and subscribe to my story and a special thank you if you've taken the time to review. This idea isn't anything major, I'm just pulling a few ideas together in the hopes that something will come from it. <em>

_I hope to see you all in Chapter One._

_Isabella C. Robertson._


	2. The First Chapter

**Saving Draco**

**by**

**Isabella C Robertson**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

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><p>It is with contempt that I sit here, quill poised in my hand and the absolute urge to write to my hearts content. The room is formal, the occasion serious - the wooden chair they gave me creaks with each movement. I am hesitant to begin. Although I long to tell, with each beat of my heart a fresh wave of nostalgia strikes me; the room, the smell, the expression… the heartache, something holds me back. A force I know not of. Is it fear? Do I fear the aftermath of my actions? Do I long to conceal the beast that plagued and prayed on the innocent?<p>

….

_I, Professor Severus Alexander Snape, hereby declare to be completely honest and truthful in my statement and promise that my accounts are recollected as best to memory. I shall retell all that I know of from the date which I first rescued Mr Draco Malfoy from his residence at Malfoy Manor. I, Professor Severus Alexander Snape, do not fear the beast._

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

I woke from my doze, the light pitter patter of rain that had lulled me to sleep had eased. It was July 4th, exactly one month since final term had commenced at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My usual activities around this time were simple, more profound and less exuberant as those I had while at Hogwarts. I had resided to my summer cottage in Bearna Beith. It is an isolated area in south England, so isolated in fact that it didn't even exist on the maps.***** A perfect misanthropists heaven! I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, drawing my attention vaguely to different areas of the small, yet homely living room. I had inherited this cottage. My grandfather, Alexander Prince had too been one for the peace and quiet that only a deserted village could give. After he had died, my mother, his only child, had left the place to ruin. I discovered it by chance, long past her death, when I had been clearing out storage space in the attic. Why not take advantage of something that would have some day probably been legally mine anyway?

I could see the dim lights of the main town from where I sat in my favourite armchair alongside the side window. By main town I mean just a single cobbled street with the obvious shops - butcher, baker, sweets, toys, book store, post office -the bare necessities for rural villagers. There were few lights shining from across the fields for it was a silent night, a dead night; the kind of night that made the hair on the back of your neck stand tall. It wasn't the distant rumbling of oncoming thunder that woke me, nor was it the hoot of the owls from the near by forest. It was a feeling. A feeling of urgency… and a voice. I thought I heard my name being called, I had felt a hand cease me by the shoulder, clawing my back. Running my fingers through my hair I tried to shake the feeling. It was the salt air getting to me, I never had built an immunity to the abilities of the sea.

I headed to the kitchen, grabbing a pile of letters on the table as I went. Flicking through them that familiar feeling of worry panged in my stomach. It was the usual bundle of subscriptions, bills, letters from Hogwarts, the usual summer greeting from Albus - I might as well admit here and now that sometimes I accidentally on purpose forget to reply to Albus - and as usual, there was not that single reply I had been anticipating. You see, for some time I had become closely acquainted with the Malfoy family, that is Lucius, Narcissa and their young son Draco. I had been an acquaintance of Lucius Malfoy during my school days at Hogwarts, though he was 5 years ahead of me, I caught his attention with my potion skills. From that point on, we shared a mutual trust. Though I never called him a friend, nor will I ever, and right now I struggle to note him as an acquaintance, I admit he had a likeable charm. Highly persuasive, absolutely Slytherin and horribly slimy. When his son Draco was brought into this world, I found myself being hired as a housing teacher for him at Malfoy Manor, preparing him for various task he would complete at Hogwarts, always keeping him one step ahead. Sometimes I wish I hadn't, sometimes I wish I had never met that boy. I wish I had never opened myself to him, never allowed him to entrust his deepest thoughts in my confidence. Not all Slytherin's are nasty, though they may seem so on the outside, on the inside they too share the deep desire to be wanted and needed and loved. I knew all to well of Draco's desires and hardships. I had seen the scars myself.

I finished washing the pots and pans I had left on the sink. I could have easily cleared them with a cleaning spell, but I found chores that Muggles found gruelling to be a source of great thinking time. My thoughts rooted on Draco. I couldn't help but wonder where he was, what he was doing, was he ok? I think it was then that I realised that somewhere deep within me, a father longed to surface. I felt over whelming compassion and I wanted to physically feel another being. I gave my plate a good scrub, bringing the shine out in it and mentally told myself to shut up. My thoughts again wondered to Draco and his last correspondence, it was a short letter, his writing was scrawled untidily across the parchment. He had said he was missing Hogwarts, was looking forward to rest and relaxation though and that "things were OK." I had fought with myself numerous times over the last 4 weeks to keep myself from apparating straight to Malfoy Manor. Each time I found myself coming closer and closer to doing it. I didn't trust my instinct, which told me meddling in Malfoy affairs would only cause me trouble, but my logic told me that something was wrong and I needed to meddle, and that I trusted.

I grabbed my cloak from the hall, fastening it with stiff fingers. I wasn't sure how exactly I was going to do this. I didn't know who was home, if anyone was home or if I would barge in on a crime scene or a completely innocent scene. I just knew though at that point that I needed to see Draco. I took the stairs briskly, trying to remain cool and collect, and grabbed a fistful of floo powder, tossing it into the flames of my bedroom fire. The emerald flames licked my knees as I stepped into it and announced "Malfoy Manor". A quick swirl and a few twirls later, I slipped out of the floo fire at Malfoy Manor. The room before me looked completely normal, large and decorative, as is Malfoy nature, with a few grand chairs , a piano and a large shrub in the corner. I looked for assistance, a bell, a house elf … a body. But there was nothing. My legs seemed to decide for me at that point though, and they led me from the room and down the hall way. I realise too that my actions are considered breaking and entering, also trespassing on private property, not to mention completely nosey, but you will come to understand.

As I walked down a long corridor with countless portraits of stern and stiff looking witches and wizards, my brisk walk slowed to a cautious, territorial sort of prowl. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, the place suddenly seemed colder. I peered down the hall, a door stood ajar with a dim light creeping from between the cracks. I should have turned, left, never stepped any further. I should have done the sensible thing and left the matter in family hands, but I wasn't that cruel. I wasn't that cold hearted. As I neared I heard the familiar crackle of needle meeting vinyl, then a long note echoed from the room, followed by some sharper short ones. I paced forward, easing the door open slowly. The room within looked grey; a cloud of smoke silhouetted everything, the drawn curtains cast obscure shadows across the walls, it was empty except for a single chair facing a dead fire. The gramophone was perched an a rounded table crackling beautifully.

"Lucius?" I asked.

No reply. I pushed the door open with a creak, stepping over the thresh hold. A figure sat hunched in the arm chair. From where I stood, I could only make out a few wisps of golden hair.

"Lucius, I apologise for the abrupt call. I didn't intend on being informal, but my mind was with unrest." I took my wand from my inner pocket at this point. I don't now why, perhaps I felt subconsciously threatened or even frightened. "Lucius?"

The figure made a noise. It sounded like a cackle, a chirp of laughter. A feminine cackle. It slowly turned towards me, the blonde hair falling to conceal the identity.

"Lucius cannot acquaint you at this moment," the figure said, laughing slightly.

"Narcissa?"

Another cackle.

"Is Lucius available to speak, I have a matter of urgency to discuss with him. Could you call him to my assistance?"

She ignored me, turning back to the gramophone, dragging the needle carelessly through the vinyl. I flinched ever so slightly.

"Lucius cannot acquaint you at this moment," she repeated.

I made the mistake then, the brutal mistake of stepping toward her. Something made me want to look her in the eye. I wanted to be able to see what sparked in those orbs when she spoke. Her face shocked me. I took a step back. Although always pale, her complexion was now grey and murky, like a plant that had not seen sun light and had been left to wither meekly. Her hair hung in uneven tatters across her face and a murky stain had crusted on her cheek. I now make the assumption that it was blood.

"Narcissa?" I whispered, coming closer. "What happened?"

She made no movement. "Do you find me attractive, Severus? Do you think I'm pretty?"

I was taken aback by the questioning, yet worried by the sincerity in her voice. I heard not a strong, proud woman, but a broken lady with battered insecurities.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"I said he cannot acquaint you at the moment!" she snarled, pushing herself foreword in the chair, almost lurching at me. Her eyes were wild, she bore her teeth and her breath smelled wretchedly of spirits.

"Your son, Narcissa, where is your son? Where is Draco?" My voice shook for the first time since arriving to this house of horrors.

"Oh. Him." She spat at my feet then, snarling to herself, muttering words I could not hear.

"Tell me where he is!" I demanded, finally turning my wand on her. She looked up to me, her light blue eyes stared mockingly back. I dared not move, I dared not take my eyes from hers. She eased herself from the couch, slowly, painstakingly. My grip tightened around the slender source of protection, if I had to, I would. For the first time I noted that she wore a greying shawl around her head, it draped to her feet, enveloping her frail body.

"He is in the Seul." she said and she pointed a bony finger towards a door at the end of the room.

"Narcissa, you need to tell me what happened? Why is Draco down there? Where is Lucius? What happened to you both?"

"Lucius cannot acquaint with you at this moment." She then sat back into her chair, pulled the needle of the gramophone back to start and began humming and muttering in a whisper.

I hurried to the end of the room, ignoring the eerie musical behind me. My mind was now plagued with expectations. I pulled the door open and hurtled down a dark flight of stairs behind it. The stairs twirled, a few dim lights shone over head, but they didn't help. As I slipped and stumbled down the steps I could only think of taking him away, far away and running. I wasn't sure what to expect, I think all expectation had become limitless at this point and when I found myself outside a tall ebony door, I didn't hesitate, instead blasted it open, sending splinters flying and the hinges creaking.

I recoiled. There was a strong stench of urine. A musty familiar smell reached my nose. I had smelled this odour on more than one occasion in the past; helpless men and woman rattling on the floor, slowly, painfully dying - blood. He lay in the corner, curled into a feeble ball, his knees drawn to his pointed chin. His grey eyes bore into mine, staring unbelievably. He looked, dare I say it, pathetic.

"Draco?" I whispered, kneeling toward him. "It's me."

"It hurts." he whispered back, his voice cracking with dehydration.

I felt his bodily fluids soak against my cloak and trousers, did I care that I was being doused in urine, fouled with excrement? Could I care about anything else in the world at this point? No.

I touched his arm, he flinched, whimpering slightly. A thick silver shackle weighed his wrist down, attached to the floor with a large bolt. That monster. He couldn't have escaped if he tried.

"I'm going to take you from here, do you understand?" I tapped the chains, breaking the seal and gently removing the weight from his stiff limbs. He hissed in agony, curling away from my touch.

"Just breath." I told him as I hoisted him from the floor. Ignoring his low groans and the torturing sound of blood dripping to the floor, soaking my shoe, I ascended the stairs, in my mind gorily destroying that vile man who had dared defy a delicate boy such as Draco Malfoy.

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><p><strong>* A line from Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights. <strong>

**Thank you to all of you who subscribed for future updates. Also, thank you too 'I've Forgotten My Password' who reviewed the prologue. I hope you have retrieved your account and can come join us for future chapters. **

** - _Isabella C Robertson_**


	3. The Second Chapter

**Saving Draco**

**by**

**Isabella C Robertson**

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><p><em>… my thoughts upon entering the house were that of pure horror. I was unsure of what to expect, I ran through my mind the possibilities… I dare not even bring myself to reconcile with the thoughts. Though they are adamantly fresh in my mind, I have not hesitated to begin a brew of nerve relaxers. I fear I too, more than Draco perhaps, shall be consuming this. <em>

_The horror within was more than I expected. I think perhaps, that I had let my guard down, refused for a moment to think that the mask Draco hid behind; the brave, handsome and convinced mask of confidence and a lavish life, actually existed for a real purpose. Rubbish! I was stupid to ever think that man could ever change, that his ways were just a social factor used to scare and intimidate those he expected who thought less of him. _

_Thus I conclude, Albus, that the only safe haven for a tortured creature like the one I rescued, is Bearna Beith. Of Lucius's whereabouts, I do not know. Of Narcissa's state, I can only suggest isolation - for her sake. Any necessary paperwork for Draco's entrance to his third year at Hogwarts should be mailed to me. I have never harboured an unnecessary impure thought, Albus, and tonight this rings true ever more._

_I trust the foregoing information shall be treated with absolute confidence and subtle actions. _

_Regards,_

As I rolled the letter tightly and sealed it with wax, I noticed a light tremor in my hand. Uncharacteristic of myself, I admitted. Though that nights actions may have been completely uncharacteristic too, to the thoughts of some people. I let a low whistle escape my lips and a familiar flutter echoed from the living room. My owl, Pythagoras (named so for the complex nature it possessed - refused to eat anything yellow or green, which made awkward it's feeding time, had an anti-social behavioural pattern and for a rather unusual reason, found refuge in small corners - under the stairs and beneath the coffee table) fluttered across the kitchen and landed on my left shoulder, he had an odd phobia of anything right sided.

"You are to deliver this to Professor Albus Dumbledore," I told him, tying a fisherman's knot on his left leg. "It's early yet, so he may still reside at Hogwarts, otherwise he'll be in the usual settlement."

Pythagoras hooted softly and took flight out the back window. For a moment, I watched as his oval body silhouetted into the moonlight. I could just make out the occasional flap of his wings as he soared over the moors. Though the night itself was warm, I felt cold. A chill from nowhere seemed to wash over my shoulders, I felt constantly at ease. My thoughts, despite distraction, continued to travel upstairs to where Draco lay, battered and bruised in the spare room.

As I carried him through the fire place, his body shook against mine. He felt so light in my arms, unusual for a boy of 12. Should he not have been eating all day every day? Filling out and becoming a teenager? He had told me, back at Hogwarts one evening during a detention (cutesy of Professor McGonagall) that he aspired to play Quidditch for England. Though his father had bought his way onto the team, brand new brooms for each member, Draco had talent. I admit my moment of weakness. I fear house pride took over and I, as Slytherin head of house, wanted nothing more than a glorious moment for my students. But I must inform you, for those of you whom are now cynical of my capabilities, that Lucius Malfoy thrives on confrontation. Had he got wind of Draco being refused membership to the team, he would surely have reacted in violence. In what way, I can only imagine to be the cruellest and most spiteful. Thus for Draco's own safety, and not just house pride, I immediately suggested him to Mr Flint, Quidditch captain.

"What a mess, Severus." I muttered to myself, sighing deeply as I ran my fingers through my hair.

I wonder, if I had known that evening the outcome of the future, would I have been so adamant to have contact with Draco? Would I have wanted to risk it all, for the sake of a child? I guess that's just something to be learned as the truth unravels. You see, not all wizards are good, some are bad. As everyone knows. But some wizards are so bad, some so bad they defy the odds, the statistics. A recent study from the Department of National Affairs from the Ministry of Magic, released by Argoth Mumford, stated that at least 45% of Great Britain's Wizarding population was bad. Of this 45% at least 4% were almost guaranteed to see the light sooner or later. Argoth Mumford also decided that of the Wizarding population in Great Britain, at least 11% of the former 45% defied the statistics, categorised by underground and black market trade. Lucius Malfoy was previously rumoured amongst the population to be a member of this 11%. Well here I shall confirm this suspicion - Lucius Malfoy, for some time now, has been a member of Knockturn Alley's underground black markets. Dangerous artefacts in Lucius's possession make their way into innocent homes, subtly charm the consumer and then suddenly disappear, finding their way back to the market to be resold. A cycle of scam and profit. You no longer need to wonder why the Malfoy's live extravagantly.

As I pondered on these statistics, I stirred my tea. I was only vaguely aware of my surroundings. My thoughts remained on my new mess. While Draco lay in bed, I began to consider the summer ahead; tea for two in future, he had no clothes with him and returning for provisions was out of the question. I had begun to make a mental list of all the things that I would now need to acquire - mentally, emotionally, physically and financially- when a loud cry erupted from upstairs.

I took the stairs two at a time, surprised by my own physical capabilities. When I threw the door open, I found Draco sitting rigid in the bed, throwing his head from side to side wildly.

"Draco!" I said loudly, catching his shoulders. "Draco, you are safe."

He shook his head, muttering beneath his breath "No, no, no, no, no." He attempted to push my hands away, swinging his legs out of the bed and trying to run. I kept a firm grip. Beads of sweat dribbled from beneath his white hair, rolling down his face and dangling from the end of his chin.

"Draco you must relax. Remember where you are. Remember who I am." I told him.

The tremors began to ease and after a minute or two, I wasn't sure how long exactly, I had never bothered to check the time, he allowed his body to sink back into the pillows. His eyes were wide with fear, his pupils dilated, large and round. I don't know if he remembered where he was, I don't know If he could even see me. His gaze, when it flickered in my direction, seemed to bore a hole right through me. As if I didn't exist and all he could see was an empty bedroom. He fell right back to sleep. I sat next to his side for a few moments after, watching his mouth twitch, his eyes squeeze shut tightly, occasionally they would shoot open and he'd stare at the ceiling, then shut them again and continue into a fit of twitching and low moans.

It must have been one of those dreams you have, the one where you're running from something you can't see, but your entire body feels heavy and each step feels like your leg weighs a tonne. I imagine you want to know how he looked that night. I can tell you it was nothing but pathetic. If I am to recall Draco before this incident, at Hogwarts, he was a fine boy. Every time I saw him, it was as if he had grown another inch, his cheeks had a fine hint of cherry, so subtle though you would barely notice it. He looked more full, like he was always eating and although his features are angular anyway, it was easy to tell that Draco' s times at Hogwarts were absolute heaven compared to home. For now, his state was a sorry sight. His cheeks looked as if they had been hollowed out, thick purple bruising surrounded one of his eyes and faded across his cheek and ear. Boxed. I shook my head. I didn't realise that boxing a child in the ear existed in these more modern days. I found some scratching on his neck, as if he had been clawed and when I rolled him over to dress him for bed, noted that they ran the entire length of his back.

Though for the sorry state he was in, he smelled considerably better. A quick odour charm concealed the smells for the mean time. I dared not disturb him for the sake of a bath. His wounds were simple, a little salve could be applied to the scratching, the bruising would heal in a few days, a few fine meals and country air would soon have him right as rain. And though my mind was eased that night as I readied myself for bed by the thoughts of how I could help him, that nagging tingle of helplessness was beginning to make it's way into sight. I could provide Draco with food, shelter, medicine, but could I give him the love and care that an abused child seeks?

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><p><strong>Thank you to all those who have subscribed in the last chapter and a special thank you to LadyLilyMalfoy for her review.<strong>

** I'm sure as most of you know, the recent piece of Potternews is the announcement of a new official site in the works by J.K Rowling for many years now - . If you haven't already heard of this, you should go and submit your email to and hopefully, I'll see you all there in November!**

**Isabella C Robertson**


	4. The Third Chapter

**Saving Draco**

**By **

**Isabella C Robertson**

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><p><strong>Review Replies : <span>SimplyEcho<span> & Cacca; on the note of Harry being involved, yes, he will, but ever so subtly in this story. It'll seem a bit confusing, but will all make sense in the final chapter. I'm sure people will be … pleased?**

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><p>As I bathed Draco's wounds the following morning, I tried subtly to pull information from him. The only noises he made were the occasional gasps, or tiniest of whimpers as the salt water drowned any gaping wound. A gentle nature would have been more suited, the likes of Madam Pomfrey or Professor Sprout, I suppose it was my reputation that turned him away at first. Though Draco had opened to me on more than one occasion, I guess I could understand why today he seemed indifferent; what teenager likes to admit that being battered and bruised by his father was a regular routine?<p>

"It will help." I assured him, hearing him gasp as I plucked a splinter from a wound, though I was positive my words made little impact. I too, if in a similar position, would find little comfort in the thoughts of healed cuts and bruises.

After a few silent moments, he lifted his head from the pillow to look at me. My gaze caught his for a fleeting moment and what I saw stung me. His hollowed out features were crumpled into a mixture of tortured emotions. It had been some time since I had last seen Draco in a state as sorry as this. The memories of him I try to retain are those of his time at Hogwarts.

"I don't understand why." he whispered.

I continued to rub the salve rhythmically onto the patching of bruise. "Nor do I, Draco." I told him honestly. For I didn't. You see, at the time, I couldn't quite understand why Lucius Malfoy did the things he did. I understood why he did certain things, business things and the such but why he tormented his flesh and blood, battered his child and neglected his wife - I did not know. Draco was silent again. He made little movement, though I imagined he must have ached all over.

"You are out of harms reach now, that's what matters. I don't imagine you'll be returning home at any stage soon, Draco. You understand that, don't you?"

"Mother." was his only reply.

I struggled to retain a smirk, for my thoughts of Narcissa were as unpleasant as those I kept for Lucius. Why she never stood up for assistance, I did not know. Perhaps she too was just so battered and tormented that nothing mattered anymore. I never once, before this incident, doubted the strength of Narcissa, but now I felt nothing but hatred. It tormented my mind, it still does, to contemplate what she felt in that house. Though it was horrific, I later discovered, my heart still could not relieve itself of the scorn I felt for Mrs Malfoy.

"She is home." that was all I could say for I wasn't sure of her exact whereabouts. Had she fled? She made little attempt to take Draco from me as I rescued him, did she even care, I wonder? Had Lucius come home, seen the mess and accused his wife? I did not fear Lucius Malfoy, years of his company led me to understand that he was, as Muggles say 'All bark and no bite', at least without assistance, he wasn't.

"I need you to tell me what happened in that house, Draco." I said. He shook his head. "I understand that it's difficult, of course, it's not supposed to be easy, Draco. But I need to know. I need to know so that I can keep you safe."

"Nothing happened." he said, "It was all just a misunderstanding."

I frowned. Wringing out the cloth and dropping it onto the floor, I leaned against the bedside cupboard. "This," I said, gently touching the bruising against his cheek and eye, "this was not a misunderstanding. This was something more."

I cringed inwardly, it had been some time since we had had this sort of conversation. I worried about a million different things at that moment - that he would hate me, want nothing more to do with me, or that I would even terrify him. As Slytherin head of house, I realised a long time ago that as a child, soon to be teenager, opening up to an adult is the hardest thing in the entire world. I waited patiently, circling the patterns the crumpled bed sheets had made.

"I think a cup of tea would be ideal," I decided after another minute of silence. "I'll fetch some and we can sit and chat about anything you like."

I rose from the bed and made my way to the door. I had just turned the handle when he spoke. It was more of a whisper, then anything, low and gentle. His voice cracked slightly and even from across the room, I could hear his knuckles crack as he wrung his hands in anxiety.

"He said I was a mudblood lover."

I froze. My heart made a quick jolt and sent those familiar feelings of apprehension fluttering about my stomach. I shook the sentiment, that word always made me feel at ease.

"A mudblood lover? How did he come to this conclusion?" I turned towards him. His eyes darted around the room, it was almost as if he were planning an escape root, for fear of my reaction. "Draco?"

"I write letters." he replied.

I could see his throat swell with each gulp he took, his chest rising unsteadily. I nodded my head, gestured him to carry on and took my former seat.

"Writing letters does not exactly signify a lover of those with non magical parents."

"I know." he told me. "But these letters… they were bad letters. I never meant to actually send them, I-I … I just wanted to see…"

"I'm not understanding this Draco, you need to explain further. Surely writing letters through curiosity did not wind you in this predicament."

"I wrote letters to a mudblood… a mudblood in a magazine that I found when I was walking in the countryside. It was just something I wanted to write and I didn't ever plan on sending them…"

I realised. An act of absolute innocence had deserved a battering in the eyes of Lucius Malfoy. A simple act of curiosity. I could feel the anger swelling deep within me, but I managed to swallow it enough to catch Draco's hand. I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles, as I had done when he were a child and needed comforting. I remember how he would slowly ease himself into a comfortable state, just lying there being cared for and having someone concerned for his welfare.

"I understand." I told him. "You need to understand Draco that as innocent as your actions, a man like your father would never deem them appropriate. I trust you need not reminding of your pure-blood statues in the community?"

He shook his head, sniffing gently and curling his knees up to his chest. I noticed him wince as the marks on his back would have been stretched.

"I just wanted to see, that's all. I didn't mean to hurt anyone or…"

"Hurt anyone?" I questioned.

He nodded. "He said it was her fault. Her fault for letting me get away with to much, for sending me to a school that was sure to be infested with rotten blood." I was remarked at his last statement, he spat those final two words between gritted teeth. Had he too inherited his father's social sleaze? "That why she didn't stop you taking me. She hates me!"

It was then I realised that he spoke of Narcissa, his mother. I doubted her hatred of Draco, not from what I have seen in the past, surely. Yes, she refused on many occasions to stand up for the boy, stand against a force that made him what he was that day, but surely no, surely she would not hate him too. He hated him, probably still does; Lucius that is. He never liked Draco, I could tell by the way he looked at him. Too much Black in him, that's what it probably was and it was well accounted for back in the day, even to this day evidently, that Malfoy's did not associate with traitorous Blacks.

"She doesn't hate you, Draco."

"She does! I know it. Why else would she let him do those things, how come she didn't stop him?" he yelled. For a boy of 12, he bore a powerful pair of lungs.

"I don't know why she didn't stop him Draco, but I do think that your mother maybe ill."

"She is." he stated in a matter of fact tone. I cocked my eyebrow and questioned him. "She takes pills all the time, get's them from the mudblood village. I don't know what they are but father doesn't know about them and I do because I saw her take them. She's mental."

I decided to by pass his sentiments. What good was it arguing something I had assumed myself already? Instead, I pushed myself up in the chair and knotted my fingers together.

"I think you should continue telling me how this all happened." I said. He nodded again and readjusted himself in the bed. I could tell from the shine on his forehead that his anxiety was through the roof, as they say. As much as I disliked watching him suffer, I needed to know. I needed to know for his sake and for my sake. For both our peace of minds.

"He found the letters under my mattress. I was going to burn them in the fire that night but it was a warm night so the house elves didn't light any. It was my mistake, I was stupid. I left the edge of one of the letters sticking out from under the mattress and he grabbed them when he came to check I was in bed. He read them and then yelled at me. He hit me in the ear" his hand instinctively rose to the side of his head "then he yelled at mother. She yelled at me for getting her into trouble so he pushed her. He kept pushing her and calling her a lay about and a slag - I don't know what that means."

He looked up to me for an explanation, his brow creased in confusion. I waved my hand, signalling him to carry on. I don't think Draco needed to know right now just exactly what a slag was and what his mother had been. He coughed slightly and wrung his hands together again.

"He pushed her into the room you saw her in. I think he hit her, I don't know but I heard something. Then he came back for me. I tried to be nice, I tried to explain but he didn't care. He threw the letters in my face, then he hit me in the face. He kept doing it, again and again. I don't fall down anymore when he hits me, I learned to stand up and take it but he doesn't like that. So he brought me to the room and hit and kicked me more and then he left me there."

"And the wounds on your back?" I asked, pulling on the cuff of my shirt in agitation.

"He dragged me to the room, down all them steps. It hurt."

"When did this happen?"

"Two days ago. I don't know where he is. He never came back." Draco looked up, his eyes glistening. His bottom lip began to tremble and I could almost ear the erratic beating of his heart. "I thought I was gonna die" he gasped, the loose tears trickling down his cheeks. "I didn't think anyone would come for me."

I caught his hand in mine, caressing his rough knuckles. "I came, Draco. You are here now, away from any danger. You are safe and in a safe place. In this place, you do not need to worry. You do not need to remember."

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><p><em>Thank you to those you have taken the time to subscribe and add this story. Also a special thank you to SimplyEcho and Cacca for reviewing. I hope you're all doing well and I look foreword to seeing you and more in the next chapter. <em>

_Isabella C Robertson_


	5. The Fourth Chapter

**Saving Draco**

**by **

**Isabella C Robertson**

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><p>Later that evening I found myself absorbed in household chores. A rarity, I will admit, it is one of the few chores in which I often use magic for; this evening however, my mind needed distracting. I folded away my robes, it was only now I had gotten around to unpacking them from my trunk. I assure you laziness is not a characteristic of mine, I am far from tardy - ask anybody. I like to arrange my clothing you see, blacks in one drawer, white in another and a mixture of anything and everything in the other drawer. I work systematically. Stockings have to be balled neatly in a small drawer and under garments in the drawer next to them and so on so forth.<p>

As I sorted through the pile, I picked up the clothing Draco had arrived here in. Dirty and tattered, and still fowl smelling, even after a steamed wash. I rolled them into a ball and tossed them into the bin. I wasn't exactly fantastic with youth fashion, sure I saw a few teenage tourists roam the cliffs every now and again, but their attire was far from appropriate. No, I wouldn't subject Draco to that. That would be ridiculous.

I headed back up the stairs and dropped the wash bag outside Draco's room. Pressing my ear to the door, I heard him cough lightly. I didn't bother knocking, to be honest I don't think privacy is needed unless you've got something to hide. The room smelled sweetly of lavender, I had lit a candle earlier and put it on the shelf. From where Draco sat in his bed, I could tell his mood hadn't lightened. He made half an effort to acknowledge me by glancing through his fringe.

"We'll need to get that hair cut, you know." I told him, nodding. He didn't reply, just a shrug of the shoulders. "I've just finished the laundry and discovered that you've got no clothing."

"Where's my jumper?" he asked.

"I've discarded it. We'll need to find you something to wear in the mean time, dinner will be ready shortly and I think you're a fair meal off being blown from your feet." I chuckled at him gently. He let half a smile crack his lips. I could see it linger on the corner of his mouth. "Tomorrow we'll head to the village, they've got some shops there."

He nodded again. I slipped my hands into my trouser pockets. "I know this must be awkward." I told him. "Being in this position, having to live with the reality of the situation. You're growing up, Draco, third year in September."

I mentally kicked myself. _You're growing up, Draco?_ I sounded like an overly proud father, when in reality I was a potions master who any day soon may be convicted of kidnap. I was anticipating a letter, a message, even a daring visit from Lucius, but nothing. I hadn't even heard word from Narcissa or even Albus yet. Did anyone give a care in the world for Draco at all, or was I on my own with this one?

I watched as he peeled the skin from the side of his nail, picking erratically at it until a few crimson dots of blood showed themselves. He scowled down at them, rubbing them away and then starting on the other side of this thumb. It was a nervous habit he had picked up about 8 years ago - I remember terrifying him with tales of his fingers falling off or shrinking. A failed attempt at terrifying a 3 year old, obviously.

"Remember me telling you that you're going to pick your finger from it's joint, if you keep doing that?" I asked.

"Hmm?" He looked up at me. The bruising was still prominent around his eye, another round of salve before bed should bring it down considerably. He stuck his hands under the covers. "Hadn't realised I was doing it," he murmured.

"What are you thinking?" I asked him. I picked at a spare button I had been carrying in my right pocket.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"I don't believe that. If I know you at all, I know you've got a thousand and one thoughts - not all of them to depressing, I hope?"

"A few."

"Care to share?"

I noticed a rising bump beneath his blanket. He was picking at his fingers again. I frowned. Perhaps I was too forward, perhaps the psychologist would say _"Leave it to him, it will all develop and be received in his own time."_ I didn't have time though. I didn't have the time to allow Draco wallow deeply into a state of misery and then crawl back out.

"Maybe another time then." I said, cocking an eyebrow. He nodded back at me and leaned back into his pillow.

"I feel tired." he muttered, closing his eyes and pulling the blanket up so that I could just see the tip of his nose poking out.

"I'll call you for dinner then. In about an hour." With that I left the room and continued about the house, chopping some vegetables, preparing some stock and marinating.

When I finally did call Draco, he needed to be assisted out of bed. His legs weren't used to the movement and he wobbled occasionally. It was embarrassing on his behalf, I could tell with the fluster in his cheeks and the few tears he thought that I didn't see him wipe away. Despite it all, I carried on as normal. I had cooked stew that night - fresh vegetables, potatoes and meat doused in a pot of warming oxtail soup. I had lit the fire in the kitchen and the flames danced in a silhouette against the walls around us. Draco made little conversation. He prioritised his food, his thin elbows jutting out at two angels as he attempted to shove as much of the rich food into his mouth as possible in a civil manor.

"You don't need to pretend that it's not the greatest stew you've ever eaten, Draco. Have you forgotten my cooking abilities that much?" I asked in mock scorn.

He shook his head, carefully grabbing a thick chunk of bread from the pile I had cut. I understood though, habits are hard to break. Civil dining manors were essential at Malfoy Manor, nothing less was tolerable. I dined there myself on occasions, and admittedly was told off about my rude slurping noises and intolerable twirling of pasta around my fork. I did not doubt that Draco would soon find comfort here. I knew he would, eventually and that it was just a matter of careful intervention.

"I think we should decide on the supplies you need tomorrow," I decided, after I had cleared the table away. Draco looked at me, leaning back in his chair, one hand on his bloated stomach.

I grabbed a quill and parchment from one of the cabinets and cocked my head in the direction of the door. He followed, though I noted disgruntled, as I heard a low groan, it could have been the food, but I chose to be pessimistic and assume the worst. I walked to the front room, my favourite room in the house. Though small in size, it was cosy. I had managed to squeeze a couch and two singles in there, a coffee table and a bookcase. The large fireplace took up the remaining space. Draco sat in a single, I sat on the couch and we faced each other over the coffee table. I saw him wince as he adjusted to the chairs texture against the nightshirt. I ignored the reaction, weighing my options and realising that anywhere was better than being confined to a bed, even for just 5 minutes. I unfolded my reading glasses from my shirt pocket and slipped them on.

"First things first, we need the bare necessities." I told him. I wrote down things like toothbrush, comb, wash cloth, tooth paste and soap. "I'm not familiar with teenage attire, so you'll need to pick them yourself, but you'll certainly be needing under garments, stockings, a decent pair of boots - the terrain is different here, compared to back home, and you'll be needing a good shirt, for company."

"OK." he agreed, gazing across the room and fixating on the window behind me.

"Your school trunk will find it's way here, I'll sort that out myself and you can begin to occupy yourself with homework. Until then, I'm sure we'll manage to pick out a book or two and some puzzles perhaps."

I smirked to myself as I scribbled down the reminders. I heard him groan and I will swear I saw his eyes roll to the heavens.

"Any special requests?" I asked. He shrugged. I waited a moment. "Nothing?" He shrugged again. "Alright then. Tomorrow we'll purchase these, I'll show you around as well. The air will do you some good."

"OK."

I rolled the parchment up and tucked it into my shirt pocket. Taking my glasses from my nose, I tucked them in with the list, folded my fingers together and rested them beneath my chin.

"Bearna Beith is a nice place, Draco. If you're worried about strangers, or harm coming your way, I assure you it won't happen here. I've got this house protected with wards, charms and spells that you won't even find in the restricted section at Hogwarts." I saw him glance quickly to the fireplace and then back to the window. "The fireplace included. There are only two people who have unlimited access to that fireplace and they are Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Everyone else will find themselves greeted with a brick wall dare they try floo through uninvited. "

"Do they know?" he finally spoke, curling his fingers together.

"Does who know what?"

"Dumbledore and McGonagall - do they know I'm here and - and why?" he cracked one of his knuckles and began squeezing his hands.

"I informed Professor Dumbledore yesterday of your arrival and situation. He will file necessary paperwork and contact the right people. Professor McGonagall need not be aware as she has no responsibility over you outside of Hogwarts."

"You don't either." he said, looking at me.

"I do, of course."

"Not legally." he retorted.

"You are correct, not legally. But morally."

"What's morally?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

I quizzed upon his suspicion, though thought nothing of it. Instead I smiled at him softly. "Morals are a set of beliefs that each person has, unique to themselves, though often very similar to others. It is what we decide is either right or wrong in our eyes and in my eyes, it was the right thing to come and take you away from that house." He pondered upon this for a while, sitting quietly, rigidly and staring hard at the floor. "Do you not want to be here?" I asked.

"I don't want to get you in trouble." he said, "With my father, when he finds out where I am and he gets angry and comes for me - and you."

"Your father cannot gain access to my house without my consent, Draco, the wards, remember?"

He nodded carefully. A little flush crossed his cheeks again and I felt a tension leave the room.

"Is that settled then?" I asked.

He nodded at me. "It is."

"Good, now you can head back to bed and you'll find that I've left a book for you on the bedside that you might enjoy. It should spark a memory or two if you seek deep enough."

He looked at me, puzzled, his white eye brows creasing. Then he pulled himself with a slight heave from the chair and slowly made his way out. I stood to assist him, but he shook his head. "I'll be fine," he told me, turning the handle and hobbling out.

I could have sworn though that I heard him mutter a small "Thank you." as he closed the door behind him and it made me smile at the point. The first real smile I had for a good while.

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><p><strong>Thank you very much for all the support I have received in the previous chapters. A very special thank you to Hannah Carson, Minka55, forbbidenluv, SimplyEcho and Cacca, for taking the time to review and encourage my thoughts. <strong>

**I've also got to make a quick announcement here: I have posted a Harry Potter one shot and it's a little piece of light fluff between a 4 year old Harry, Sirius and Remus. Let me know what you think?**

**Isabella C Robertson**


	6. The Fifth Chapter

**Saving Draco **

**by**

**Isabella C Robertson**

* * *

><p>Bearna Beith is a quiet and respectful little village, nestled in the middle of a valley and located roughly on the outskirts of humanity. I found no other solitude and source of sheer happiness in life than spending my summer isolated from the busy streets and highways, crowded town centres and dismal London tenant houses. As we strolled down the lane way leading from my cottage to the village centre, I took a moment to thank Merlin that I had been graced with such luck as to reside here. By we, I mean Draco and I. I had managed to find some old shirt of mine and we had made quick work of it with the scissors. His trousers, I must admit, were a sorry state - just an old pair of mine that I had been quickly hemmed up and buckled tightly with a brown belt to fit. Despite his rather unattractive sense of dress, his physical appearance had brightened. Though I could tell bending in strange positions still hurt and his legs ached slightly, I could see just the tiniest hint of pink flushing his cheeks. The bruising had at this point dulled to a light purple with unsightly tinges of yellow.<p>

"What do you think of the scenery?" I asked him, as we rounded a bend and crossed through a cow path.

He wrinkled his nose at the fresh smell of manure that wafted from the nearby dairy farm.

"It's alright, I suppose." he mumbled, digging his hands into his pockets.

"The town is just ahead. It's alright too, I suppose." I smirked.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and I saw a small smirk cross his lips. We carried on through the lane way, surrounded by hedges and finally crossed a rail way line onto the cobbled stone of the village centre.

"That's the sweet shop over there," I told him, pointing straight ahead to Mr Simms. As a child, I never had much time to indulge in sweets and treats and all things nice, so now as an adult with ample opportunity, I take any spare moment to marvel at the wonders within that shop. "We can take a look, if you'd like that."

He shook his head staring coldly at the frosted window with jars of multiple colours and variety. "I'm not allowed."

"What about at Hogwarts? I've seen you relish in all those sugary desserts the house elves prepare."

He looked at me, a baffled expression plastered across his pale face. "House elves make those!"

I cocked an eyebrow. "Of course, who did you expect to be preparing them?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Servants?"

"House elves." I sated, smiling down at him.

I pointed to a shop next to Mr Simms. It was small and red, with various meats hanging from the window. "That is the butchers. It belongs to Mr and Mrs Buttimer. They live in the house above it." I explained, pointing to two windows above the store. "They've got a daughter about your age and a son a little younger. You'll probably encounter a few of the local children while you're here, it would be wise to mingle, Draco."

"Why would I mingle with them? They don't know me nor do I know them."

"That's usually the point of mingling. To make friends and get to know people. I can't imagine you'd want to spend your time cooped up in the cottage with me. The fresh air will do you good."

"I could sit in the garden," he scowled, then pointed to an elderly man with a ratted grey beard and thatched clothing. He was seated on a stool alongside the local well, a newspaper open in his hand and one battered boot resting against the other. "Whose he supposed to be?"

"That's Edgar Kelly," I told him. "He sits there every day from 6am to 7pm, reading the same newspaper all the time. You don't need to be afraid of him, he's totally harmless but be wary, we're not entirely sure of his history. He just randomly arrived one day."

Draco gawped at him as we passed, taking in every detail he could. I too often gave him the odd look. It's not that I took pleasure in making people feel uncomfortable and don't get me wrong, I hold no judgement or grudge against Edgar Kelly, it's just that, well … he is a bit weird.

"This is Kathleen's shop," I told him and we stopped outside an old looking store with brown walls and dusted windows. To anyone outside of the village, it would seem a derelict building with a few old scraps of material lying around the window sill. They were wrong though. Kathleen's tailoring service was the finest south England had to offer. At the ripe age of 88, she still did most of her own cutting and sewing, an absolute whiz on the sewing machine.

"It's a bit old." Draco commented, eyeing the peeling paint.

"Never judge a book by it's cover." I told him, opening the door and quietly enjoying the tiny ringing of the bell above. The shop inside is old, but homely, simple with a few sheets of material draped around the walls, two stools, some measuring tools and a counter top.

I directed Draco to a stool, though disgruntled with my orders, he settled quietly and waited. From behind a curtain, the tailor made herself present. Kathleen Dorgan is her name and though as I already said, her age at 88 did not defy her fine tailoring ability. She's a small woman who always wear an apron and insisted on letting her hair grow long, rather than cut it into the stereotypical _'old feeble woman perm'_, as she calls it.

"Severus, dear." she greeted me with a fine smile, then her eyes flicked to Draco, "And company?"

I nodded. "My god son, Draco. It is actually on his behalf that we are here today, isn't that right Draco?"

"Yes." he grunted, glowering at the floor.

"Well then, what can I do you for?" she asked him, coming round to the front of the counter. "Anything in particular? Trousers, shirts, jumpers, knickers?"

I allowed myself a brief smirk as he blushed at Kathleen's mannerism. One would assume, having met Draco while at Hogwarts, that he held an air of all mighty knowing and was impassive to most things. Though I knew better, I knew exactly what made those cheeks flush a deep crimson and sent his stomach into a knot. And while I should have been sensitive to his feeble state, the country man in me rose to charge and decided that despite his ordeal, a good dose of the agricultural world would do him far more than sympathy. He looked to me for help, his eyes pleading that I answer the old woman's requests.

"Just some trousers and some t-shirts maybe." I told her. "He'll be needing a jacket, though I suppose I could work from one of my old ones."

"I hear Eileen Driscoll is looking to rid herself of her Michael's old winter jackets." she told me as she ducked beneath the counter.

"Has he out grown those already?" I asked. "I haven't seen him since I arrived, though I don't doubt that boy is almost as tall as his father now."

She reappeared, coughing wildly and holding two boxes. "Aye," she nodded, opening them up. "Now boy you come here and pick from these."

Draco looked at me, hesitant to move from his stool. "Go on," I told him, "She can't chose for you."

He scowled and made his way to the counter. I examined his movements. He stood staring into the box for a while, his eyes moving slowly across the colours and patterns. Then he pointed to a dark green cotton and looked at me. "Could I have this for a t-shirt?" he asked.

"Ask Kathleen, not me." I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the counter, "I'm not a tailor."

"Could I?" he mumbled to her.

"You'll have to roar a fine bit more than that young man," she said, winking to me, "I'm a ripe 88 and though my fingers work nimbly, my ears made short work of themselves."

"Could I have the green one for a t-shirt," he asked a little louder, "And that blue one, too."

"Certainly." she smiled, pulling them from the box. " And the trousers?" she asked, heaving another box of material to the counter.

He hesitated. I noticed his eyes rest heavily on a dark blue denim, but he settled for a plain black fabric. "Just the black." he told her.

"Not a jeans man then, well that's alright. You'll be a right pair the both of you waltzing around in your shirts and trousers." she smiled, "Now then you just stick your arms out and I'll measure you up."

She disappeared behind the curtain again and I turned to Draco.

"Why is that you did not chose the denim?" I asked. "I imagine denim is fashionable still, is it not?"

He shrugged, sticking his hands in his pocket. "I'm not allowed wear denim. Just trousers."

He toed the wooden floor with his shoes, scuffing the leather.

"I don't think it matters right now Draco, like I said, I don't imagine that you'll be home soon. I'm waiting on an owl from-"

"You only think that." he told me, "You don't know what he's capable of. He won't have any of this. I know it. He'll know. He'll find me"

"No one will find you Draco and if they do, they will need to defy my wards to gain access. That won't happen."

Kathleen reappeared from behind the curtain and began pulling at Draco's limbs. I noticed him flinch a few times as she brushed against a bruise or a wound.

"What size shoe are you, Draco?" I asked as he winced again.

"I'm a size 8," he replied.

"Why don't you stay here and finish getting measured up, I'll pop out to pick up the rest of the supplies. Follow me when you're ready."

I turned my back before I could note his reaction. I did not want to see his face flash with terror at being alone, not with the final note of our conversation being so dismal and terrifying. As I strolled down the street, my mind deep in thought I pondered on whether or not Draco was really and truly safe here. I did not doubt my abilities to secure a house with wards, though I doubted my ability to pull Draco from his mind of terror. Though I manage many Slytherin's, hear their problems, sort their worries and charm their nightmares away, I am not and never will be a natural warm spirit. It takes a lot from me to kindle to a child and sometimes I feel myself struggle to be efficient.

Shaking the misery from my thoughts, I turned into Molly's Footwear. Molly was a nice woman, ran a clean business, cheap but sturdy and had a more then enthusiastic son who I noted was working alone today. I groaned inwardly.

"Good afternoon George," I greeted.

"Hello Mr. Snape. Good to see you back in the village it is. My mother's not working today, nasty bought of the shakes, probably because of that cold I gave her. No doubt she'll send me banging round your door later on begging for a remedy."

He laughed loudly, his voice shaking slightly and I did cringe on his behalf. At the age of 16, he was the stereotypical pubescent teenager; lanky with a light patch of hair spotted across his upper lip.

"I am looking for some trainers." I said, ignoring his rant.

He rose a hairy eyebrow at me. "Are you sure?" he asked.

I scowled. "Is that not what I just said?"

"Well you know… trainers are a bit… young?"

"Not for me!" I barked, drumming my fingers against the counter. "I need a size 8 pair of trainers for a teenage boy. Can you help me?"

"Oh!" he chimed, nodding exuberantly, "Yeah, sure thing. Over here, look."

I followed him cautiously to a rack on the window. A few colourful varieties of shoes were displayed in their boxes, I cringed away from most of them. They were mostly bright colours with swirling designs or bright laces. I could not imagine Draco sporting a pair.

"Have you got anything more … formal?" I asked, moving away.

"I've got some chucks." he said, pointing to the window. "Over there."

"Perfect!" I said, picking a black and white pair. "A size 8 and I'll be out of your hair then , George."

He laughed again. "I'd be delighted if you stayed all day! It's so boring in this shop all day. I wish some of the kids would pop in for a chat, but their all arranging the beach bon fire for the weekend. I bet that-"

I held my hand up to silence him. "A size 8."

"Righto!" he ran through the backdoor and I made my way to the front, readying myself to dart wearily as soon as he had fetched the shoes. In my mind the shoes had seemed a great idea, a fashionable trend, I had seen some of the Hogwarts students sporting them and remember them briefly from my own childhood, though in my heart I imagined that they would cause more trouble than they were worth. All the same, you can't know until you've tried, can you? So when George came towards me with the bag, I quickly paid and darted to the shopping market across the street.

I had just finished paying for the undergarments and socks, when I saw Draco standing near the toy shop. He bore a deep scowl on his thin face and his arms were crossed stubbornly.

"See anything you like?" I asked, nodding towards the toy shop.

"No." he grumbled, turning momentarily away.

"I've got your underwear, socks and other supplies." I said, "Is there anything else that you might need?"

"No."

I rolled my eyes and walked ahead of him. "Home it is then." I said, striding away.

I heard him follow behind me at a slow pace, scuffing his shoe against the cobble stone and kicking a few pebbles he met along the way. I imagined there and then that Draco was becoming the stereotypical teenager; moody and disgruntled with an attitude problem. Though I tired not to let it phase me, I felt a swell of annoyance flair up.

"She said that she'd put your name on the book and you can pay her when she sees you next." he grunted from behind me.

I smirked.

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><p><strong>Thank you to all of you who so far have supported me in this adventure. An extra special thank you to <span>Carson<span>, Forbiddenluv and SimplyEcho for their reviews. Also, an amazing thank you to MalikaiDragonSlayer, SimplyEcho and LittleWeasleyGirl - Kate Castle, for reviewing my Harry Potter One Shot_ 'A Militant Father Christmas'._**

**I would also like to inform you that you should all continue to check back onto my profile this week as I will be posting the beginning of a new story I am starting, centered around Severus Snape, a new character and Hermione Granger with appearances of course from Harry, Ron and the rest of Hogwarts. **

**Isabella C Robertson**


	7. The Sixth Chapter

**Saving Draco**

**by **

**Isabella C Robertson**

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><p><em>Severus, <em>

_It is important that you keep Draco concealed well these coming weeks. I have arranged a ministry hearing, the date is yet to be revealed. All will be in attendance._

_Albus Dumbledore_

I burned that note. It was waiting for me on the kitchen table when we arrived home from the village. I knew immediately who the sender was, the unmistakable mauve wax signet was always from Dumbledore. Though as brief as he was, I understood the message. Concealed behind the subtle words, I knew that Lucius knew.

"Why do you burn your letters?" Draco asked. He had been standing in the door way, watching me.

"Paranoia," I joked.

He forced a smile, shrugged and walked toward me. "There's not a lot to do here."

"You haven't seen a lot. There is much to do here during the summer; meetings, fairs, bon fires-"

"Bon fires?" he asked.

I nodded, unpacking his items. "That's right. It's a large fire built on the beach every summer, all of the locals attend, old and young."

He eyed the undergarments, his brow creasing heavily as I unveiled a pair of striped underpants. "What do you do there?"

"Sit and talk, laugh and sing. The older people share stories, the younger people usually climb off onto the rocks or take a swim. I can arrange for you to meet some children your age. It might do you some good."

"I don't need pity." he spat.

"It's not pity, Draco. It's just making something good out of a bad situation. I won't pretend that you're happy here, I can see that you're not."

He didn't reply, instead he opened the shoe box I pushed to him. I wasn't expecting a glorious reaction from him, I wasn't expecting much at all, if I'm to be honest. For as long as I've known Draco, I've known that he's a subtle character. He doesn't pride himself in his conversationalist skills, most don't. The option of isolation or conversing with Draco was usually met with the former. It wasn't his fault though, you see, living the aristocratic lifestyle usually meant you speak when spoken to, otherwise you find a quiet corner and stay until you're wanted.

"I'm not allowed." he said, shoving the box back towards me.

"And who decided that?"

"Father."

"He doesn't exist in this household, Draco and the sooner you realise that, the better."

He shrugged, turning to look out the window. His eyes fixated on the horizon. I could tell he was contemplating the matter, considering his options. I felt a twinge of sadness that something as simple as shoes needed this much consideration.

"It's not that you have an option." I told him, pushing his items towards him.

"What do you mean?"

"Those shoes will be gone when you wake tomorrow," I said, pointing to his feet. I leaned against the table, folding my arms across my chest. He turned, his eyes narrowing. "There is no sense in arguing either."

"I'd like to sleep for a while." he muttered, walking from the room.

As I prepared dinner, I left Draco to his mind. Though I previously believe self sorrow was worse, that wallowing in ones own pity was never the best option, I now admit that sometimes it is necessary. I hoped with some time and thoughts, he would find his place here. Admittedly, Bearna Beith was different to his previous setting, the cottage did not have the luxury, the house elves, perhaps the comfort? Though I wonder how much comfort he received. Despite all the cottage lacked, it made up for in it's warmness, it's comforting aura and the ability to be completely at peace with ones self while residing here.

I had been about to set dinner, a fine helping of home made soup and bread, when I heard the front gate rattle. I had rigged it with a unique charm, though it opened silently to visitors, a chiming alarm echoed throughout the house. The knock was light on the door, I hadn't been expecting visitors, no one from the wizarding world called without invitation or word, the village likewise.

Though when I opened the door, I felt ridiculous for having not anticipated the arrival.

"George?"

"The very." he smiled, nodding his head. He held a basket in his arms, empty from what I could see.

"How can I help you?" I asked, hoping to rid of him quickly.

"Remember what I said about mam well ago? How she was down with a cold and the shakes and all sorts? Well she's sent me your way hoping for a pick me up. You know, some of your good stuff."

I sighed, opening the door to invite him through. "Wait here," I said, pointing at a spot by the stairs.

As I rummaged through my supply of syrups and liquids in the kitchen cabinet, I hoped to Merlin that he was still there when I went out. Though as nice a boy as he was, his eccentricity was often migraine rendering. I very often find myself reaching for a tonic after an encounter with him. I did not mind the occasional drop in from the villagers, they usually came to ask for tonics and cures. Most assumed that I was a medic man. I allowed the rumour to spread when I moved here, hoping to draw the attention away from my brewing, unusual smokes often curled form my windows, and soon found myself on high demand. I help as much as I can, though ask for little in return. Those I help usually send a cake my way, or a little gift.

I found what I had been looking for. A quick cough bottle I had brewed last week. I took it to George, surprised to see him smiling at me from the stairs.

"You're great for this, Mr. Snape!" he said, dropping the bottle into the basket, "She has me in a heap across the village looking for cures. I'm off to the chemist now for sucking sweets and powders. Then down to the market for scented candles."

"Mind you bring that bottle back," I told him, opening the door and ushering him out, "They don't come cheap."

"I will, I will. I'll come round with Alison later tonight, about seven. Mam said she'll have something ready for you then."

"Tell her there's no trouble. Good day George."

I closed the door on his continuous chatting, sighing lightly to myself. When I retuned to the kitchen, I found my soup boiling over the edges. I frowned, agitated at the interruption and dished out the thick remains of what I had slaved for.

"Draco," I yelled from the bottom of the stairs. I waited for any movement. "Draco!"

I heard his door opening. He trotted across the landing, the tips of his new socks dangling over the top stairs.

"What?" he asked.

"Dinner. Quick."

He followed me, shuffling loudly down the stairs. I ignored his attempts to draw a rise of annoyance and sat myself at the head of the table. He took a seat opposite me, examining the food.

"It smells-"

"Burned, yes. I know. I had a visitor that distracted me."

"I heard."

I stirred my soup. "I'd like for you to speak with him next time." He ignored me and began tearing his bread into small pieces. "His name is George, his mother owns the shoe shop in town. Rather eccentric, but hospitable at the least."

"Oh?" he replied, dunking his bread.

"He'll be returning tonight, make yourself presentable."

"Why should I?"

"Because while you are here Draco, you will be expected to live by the rules of this house. Those are that all guests are greeted warmly."

"Well what if I don't want to be here!" he snapped, dropping his bread.

"Then where else shall you go?" I challenged, staring at him. "Back to the manor? Or are you going to wonder the country side?"

"I'll go where I please."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're not looking at anything with a light of positivity."

"Why should I?" he yelled. "How can I look at anything positive with what's happened? He'll know where I am, if he doesn't know already. He'll come and your stupid spells won't keep him out!"

"I understand your frustration, Mr Malfoy," I said, lowering my voice and rising, "I understand the hurt , the hatred and the vengeance you feel. But despite your hurt, I will not be spoken to in such a manor. If you feel you need to behave like a child, then you can seat yourself in a corner and sulk there." He opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. "Go!"

I watched as his face crumbled through emotions - anger, horror, frustration, confusion and then sadness. He stood abruptly and carried his chair to the far corner, placing it roughly on the floor and falling onto it. He crossed his arms, stretched his legs out and stared coldly at the wall in front of him. I closed my eyes, mentally swearing and cursing my rash behaviour. I hadn't meant to be so harsh at the time, I didn't want him to add my image to his resentment. I wasn't meant to be resented by him, I was supposed to be here for him to turn to. As I finished my soup, I tried to shake the creeping feeling of failure.

Clearing the dishes was awkward. I kept throwing sly glances at Draco, hoping he changed his scowl to a tiny frown, or even a passive face. But the deep scorn remained on his face the entire time. I was annoyingly aware of how juvenile the matter was. I felt young again, a time I'd rather not relive, and I disliked it.

"You can sit in the living room for a while reading," I told him, or you can spend time in the garden."

He stood up without acknowledging me, and left the kitchen. I heard the living room door slam and I found myself scowling. The feelings of annoyance resurfaced. I buried them again, warning myself that I was not to rise to the actions of a teenager. I spent some time in the kitchen after that, I had letters to write. I contemplated writing to Lucius. I wasn't sure whether or not this option was wise or not, whether I was only drawing trouble to myself. Perhaps writing to Narcissa would be beneficial. Then again, how so? I shook the thoughts and went about filling in report cards.

_Bulstrode, Millicent - Potions - A_

_Davis, Tracey - Potions - E_

_Greengrass, Daphne - Potions - O_

_Parkinson, Pansy - Potions - E_

_Timms, Alana - Potions - E_

_Crabbe, Vincent - Potions - A_

_Goyle, Gregory - Potions - A_

_Malfoy, Draco - Potions - E_

_Nott, Theodore - Potions - A_

_Zabini, Blaise - Potions - O_

_Burke, Ashley - Potions - A_

_Brown, Lavander - Potions - E_

_Coleman, Nathalie - Potions - A_

_Granger, Hermione - Potions - O_

_Patil, Parvati - Potions - E_

_Finnegan Seamus - A_

_Long bottom, Neville - Potions - A_

_Potter, Harry - Potions - A_

_Thomas, Dean - Potions E_

_Weasley, Ron - Potions - A_

"He got an Exceeds Expectations?"

I looked up, my glasses slipping from my face. Draco stood to my left, his hands knotted behind his back. His blonde hair looked chaotic on his head, as if he had slept fitfully, that or it was a new style. I secretly hoped it was the former.

"It is dishonourable to view other students grades," I said, turning the reports over. "Unless you have been invited to do so."

"I just happened to notice is all," he said, "I didn't mean anything by it."

I grunted, slipping the reports into an envelope and tucking it between a stack of papers. I occupied myself with shuffling and arranging the papers, allowing him the opportunity speak his mind, or apologise at the least. I could hear him scuffle his shoes against the floor.

"You didn't answer the door when it knocked." he said.

I frowned. "Someone knocked?"

He nodded. "A boy, he's in the living room, I invited him because I didn't know what to do."

I nodded, checking the clock on the wall - 6:30. I never did understand why time seemed to fly by whenever paperwork was involved. I've heard the saying before _'Time fly's when you're having fun',_ - not true at all when it came to grading Gryffindor's, though they unexpectedly did far better this year than their first.

"What will I tell him?" Draco asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I stood and beckoned for him to follow. "We shall greet our guest respectfully." I led him to the front room, unusually anticipating the arrival of George. You see, one thing about Slytherin's is that they pride themselves in loyalty to their companions. I understood why, it's not easy being the hated house at Hogwarts, it causes more unnecessary hatred than needed. Considering Slytherin's are loyal to only those they trust, I decided there and then that my garden needed some grooming. Perhaps a companion would do Draco good.

"George, good to see you. You have my bottle I trust?"

"Absolutely!" he yapped, holding it out to me. "And here's a basket of nibbles, mam baked them. Mind you, I wouldn't eat them if I were short a tonic, she sneezed madly all over the kitchen."

I cringed, accepting the basket and placing them on the coffee table. I watched Draco shrink away from the exuberant manner of George.

"I have a favour to ask George."

"Anything!"

"My garden is in severe need of grooming. Would you mind assisting myself and my godson Draco tidy it up?"

I placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, pushing him foreword. He stubbornly dug his heels into the carpet.

"So that's who you are!" George chirped, throwing his hands in the air, "I wondered when you answered the door. I was astounded thinking you were Mr Snape's son. What an unusual name though. Draco!"

"Er … yes." Draco replied.

"Well we'll have a fine time tomorrow, weeding and plucking. Shall I bring Alison along too? She didn't want to make the trek tonight."

"That will be fine. Tomorrow about 3pm then. Thank you George." I said, opening the living room door.

George climbed across the room, knocking against the coffee table as he went. "Three it is then. Nice to meet you Draco, see you tomorrow."

I accompanied George out the door, greeted him good evening and returned to Draco's side. He stood alongside the coffee table, staring at the spot where George had stood. His face was an unreadable mix of emotions. I leaned against the door frame, tucking my hands into my pocket. "Thoughts?" I asked.

He turned to me. "What was that?" he asked, his face creasing in horror.

"That, Draco, was a muggle Gryffindor," I replied, smiling lightly at him.

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><p><strong>Thank you for the constant support throughout these chapters. It is very much appreciated. Thank you especially to SimplyEcho (who noticed the mollygeorge name game) and poplip for taking the time to review. If it wasn't for your encouragement, I don't think that I would have gotten this far.**

**I've also got the first chapter of a new story up called 'Le Garcon de Saint-Maur'. It is a story centering Severus Snape, Hermione Granger and an unknown relative. Check it out.**

**Isabella C Robertson**


	8. The Seventh Chapter

**Saving Draco**

**by**

**Isabella C Robertson**

* * *

><p>The minutes seemed to melt away into hours, the handles on the kitchen clock ticked exuberantly and all the time, I was waiting, uncharacteristically excited about the arrival of the Loughlin children. Draco's mood today was unsettled, though it was becoming a frequent habit of his to demonstrate displays of manic depression, I made an extra effort to play into his sorrows, hoping thought's of yesterday's punishment would fade away. For the best part of the morning, we took to organising his clothes and bathroom bag. I had offered him the ability to rearrange the room he resided in to suit his needs. The offer meant little to me, but much to a boy his age.<p>

"I was never allowed move anything," he told me, "Father had jinxes around the furniture. If I moved even my bed a tiny piece, I'd be burned or disgusting boils would erupt on my face."

I assured him my furniture was jinx free, demonstrating as I dragged his bed around the room. It earned me a short smile; not a long lasting grin, but I noticed a tiny light spark in those eyes. Delighted at the notion of progress, we had ventured into the attic. Well… I had hoisted him onto my shoulders, while he stuck his head through the attic door. I directed him to an old trunk of mine and together we hoisted it from it's dust cave.

"An old Hogwarts trunk of mine, from my school days." I told him, pushing it against the end of his bed. I unbuckled the leather straps, lifting the lid and batting away the dust as it rose from it's years of settlement. "I've got a lot of old memorabilia here from the Slytherin common room."

"You _stole_ from the Slytherin common room!" he gasped.

"At the time I suppose it was considered stealing, yes," I agreed, picking up an old silver jar encrusted with a light gilded engraving. "But considering I'm head of Slytherin house now, it's more borrowing with intention of returning at some stage."

He peered into the trunk, admiring my treasures. I saw his fingers flex with irritation, the temptation to touch and prod and know about it all rattled him. He was a curious child, Draco, forever questioning and wanting to have an answer for all of life's problems. Until he reached a certain age, then nothing of the sort was tolerated in Malfoy Manor. If it was mentioned, then it became a rule and you did not question rules at Malfoy Manor.

"We'll go through it tomorrow, what do you think?" I suggested, dropping the jar back amongst the pile and causing a swirl of dust to rise. I whacked it away with my hands. "I'm certain that there are some Slytherin flags in here. I'm sure we could brighten this place up with some fine décor."

"I'd like that." he mumbled, dropping his eyes to my hands.

I hardly noticed the time pass, we had become so preoccupied in finding a suitable position for Draco's bed. It couldn't be in the centre of the room, that was to formal nor could he have it shoved against one wall because that left to much empty space; so we decided the best option was to rest it at an angle against one corner of the room.

"This way I can view the door and the window." he explained, tucking the edges of his blanket carefully beneath the mattress.

I had been about to reply, with what I couldn't recall, I think it was a suggestion about moving his desk, when the security chime echoed around the house. It was followed by two enthusiastic knocks against the door.

"I think that our guests have arrived," I said, rising from the edge of the bed, "I'll go greet them while you change."

I closed the door behind me, secretly throwing a prayer to the winds that he would think for himself and not allow his father rule his mind from a distance. George greeted me in his usual manner, a strong hand shake and a chatty reencounter of their adventure from his house to mine. I nodded vaguely, humming and making subtle remarks as I waved him through to the kitchen. Though I wasn't really concerned, I was neither rude. His sister, Alison, a bright young girl of 11, trailed behind him. Though I found George to be an absolute pest, I quite favoured Alison for her considerate nature and observant personality.

"Don't you think, Mr Snape?" he hollered.

I looked up, blinking at his expression and realising I had no either what he had been saying. "Quite." I replied, hoping the answer suited.

He sighed, shaking his head. "I said the same thing you know. I do rather think Ms Lynch needs to come down from her high horde and give over with her ordering about. It's her first year on the bonfire committee and she's already seen to it that we don't go rock climbing after 4pm."

"That's because the tide rises at 4, George. It'd be dangerous. Unless you want to fall into the waves and be lost forever." Alison added.

I smiled. Always the prudent one her. She smiled back at me, her ponytails rocking from either side of her head.

"Where's Draco then?" George quipped, "I still can't believe his name. Hilarious!"

"It does not do to laugh at others, George. The tides turn eventually and you wouldn't want to find yourself on the other end." I reminded him.

He shrugged. Turning from me and staring out the window. "What is it we're getting up to today, Mr Snape?"

"Some weeding and watering." I told him, opening the back door indicating toward a pile of wood stacked against the wall. "Then there's all that wood I need taken away."

"Is that for the bonfire?" Alison asked, stepping into back garden. I nodded in reply, kicking aside a large dandelion that had grown between a crack in the path.

"Why that'll be brilliant!" George gasped. "Imagine the height we'll reach with the flames this year."

"I don't think Ms Lynch will approve."

"Lynch smynch," he scoffed, waving a hand in front of his sisters face. She swatted him away. "Oh there you are! About time, the weeds have been growing you know!"

I turned. In the doorway, standing with an air of weak authority and confidence, was Draco. His hair was slicked back, trademark, and he wore a blue t-shirt, with a pair of trousers. I nodded to him, a silent remark of praise and encouragement. He returned my gesture.

"Right then," I said, rubbing my hands together. "George and Draco, why don't you begin pulling the wood out front. Alan Carter will be around to pick it up and myself and Alison will begin weeding."

The work was exhausting. One could only pull and pluck at so many slivers of weeds, before agitation set in. I had managed to de-weed a square patch of grass near the wall, bringing shame upon myself as I saw the large rectangle area Alison had groomed. All the time I watched from the corner of my eye as Draco silently picked his way through the pile of wood. Though he settled for the lightest bits to begin with, I watched as his ego rose to the surface, ever trying to match the strength of George. I admired his attempts, his new ways. I wasn't deterred by his lack of conversation with George, occasionally he would mutter a word or two, answer a question or if he couldn't come up with a big enough exaggeration, just ignored him. I doubted that George minded. He was more a talker than a listener either way, never failing to fill an awkward pause with a rumour he had heard or a strange fact of nature.

His livid personality was new to Draco, I never expected him to welcome the change with open arms, but I was happy none the less of his attempts to socialise. Though little they were, he managed well. We continued weeding and plucking, mowing and pruning, pulling and pushing well into the evening. It wasn't until I heard the chime of the village bells for 6 o clock, did I finally struggle to my feet.

"Time flies when you're having fun!" I puffed, shaking the stiffness from my joints. "Six in the evening already. Your mother will have me drawn and quartered if I keep you longer!"

"I am rather hungry," Alison said, patting her stomach, "And tonight is pizza night."

"Pepperoni and extra cheese," George added, licking his lips. "Oh, Mr Snape, do let us go now!"

I scoffed in false offence, then pulled from my pocket two five pound notes, handing one to each of them. "For your excellence and company," I said, "Don't spend it all in one go. Now go on, away with you."

"Brilliant, Mr Snape!" he gasped.

"Thank you loads," Alison beamed.

I saw them to the door, expecting Draco to follow. I found him out the back garden, plucking the last few dandelions from a corner. He was hunched over on his knees, his head lowered and his arms working furiously.

"You done a fine job today," I remarked, resting on the heels of my shoes.

He shrugged. "Was easy."

"I see you spoke to George. Change of opinion?"

Another shrug. "He's alright."

"And Alison."

He said nothing, continuing to pull at bits of grass. He eventually shrugged , leaning back on his heels. "She's grand I suppose."

I chuckled at him, offering my hand to pull him from the grass. He heaved himself up, dusting down his knees and looking proudly around the garden.

"It looks nice now." he said, resting his hands on his hips. I was briefly amused by this gesture, though I nodded and agreed that yes, we had done a fine job.

Guiding him into the kitchen, I told him leave his shoes against the door for scrubbing. He kicked them off and wiggled his toes, flinching with the movements.

"Sore feet?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded. I poured a glass of lemonade and cut a slice of sticky toffee cake for us. We settled into the table, savouring our make shift dinner. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he licked the toffee from his fingers and almost dared to wipe the contents on his t-shirt. It's not that I would have minded, in fact I would have favoured an act of social rebellion on his behalf. We weren't quite there yet, I realised, but progress was certainly being made.

"The shoes didn't match." he said, tilting his glass slightly and watching the liquid slosh around inside.

"What do you mean?"

"The pants. The shoes didn't suit my trousers. It looked funny."

"Well how do we accommodate for that?" I asked, brushing some cake crumbs into my hands. He shrugged. "I'm open to suggestions."

"Well," he said, trailing his finger along a burn mark on the table, "I could get some jeans to go with them. Like the ones that George had."

"Jeans it is then," I said, cutting another slice of cake and mentally jumping for joy.

At that moment, I had taken for granted just how easily happiness could be distorted. How quickly confidence can be torn down and shredded into a former shadow. I should have known, suspicion should have told, a sense of warning. Logic should have kicked in, but it didn't and that's when things get tough. That evening was serene, I should have realised to serene and to perfect for nothing to destroy it. What followed the next morning shook every foundation I had worked on for the last few days with Draco. Ignorance is a bliss.

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><p><strong>Apologies for my leave of absence, I had internet issues and a few things to sort out. Never fear, I am back on track. Thank you kindly and greatly to all those who have supported me. You make this what it is! Great appreciation is given to <span>me1234567890, Reidlover, SimplyEcho, Cacca, forbbidenluv;<span> these people have been fantastic, following the story through and through, if ever you feel bored or in need of Harry Potter love, check these profiles out for creations and recommendations. **


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